Rise Above the Wind
by Brette Stallings
Summary: Is everything gone with the wind...or can they rise above it?
1. Mysterious Ways

**Note: Dear readers, if you were following my other story, Secrets of Her Heart...I took it down after feeling that it just wasn't working, and only leading to more angst/frustration on my part. I need to edit and re-format it again, and will re-submit it when I have more time to devote to it. For now, it's on hiatus, and I had planned on taking a break from GWTW for the remainder of the summer...however, I sat down tonight in Starbucks and this just came out. So, without further adieu... **

**1**

Major Ashley Wilkes, C.S.A, walked up the back stairwell of the First Baptist Church of Petersburg and entered the sanctuary. He was tired and restless and completely unable to aide his wretched, barefooted men. Always a conscientious objector to war, he had answered the call to arms in defense of his home state, and proved himself an able leader of men; but despite his commendations, he still loathed it all passionately. The worst part of it was that he could do nothing to speed it along, nothing to ease the suffering of his men in the field or his wife at home. Ah, sweet Melly, so innocent and virtuous…and then there was Scarlett. Guiltily, he imagined the kiss they had shared on his last day of furlough. His hand pressed downward in his pants as he remembered it…

God! He half cursed, half prayed. Even God seemed unreachable these days. And why not, Ashley thought, why would a loving God want to comfort his creatures while they're destroying one another?

He sat down in a pew and took a look around. A faint, ghostly glow from a far-off lantern illuminated the empty sanctuary, yet, the place still promised utter privacy.

God forgive me, Ashley thought. He unbuttoned the fly of his pants and tried to envision the woman who had become in his mind the most beautiful in all creation. After he had finished, he laid down in the pew and wept, recalling the manifestations of concern he had received from early childhood on about the evils of what he had just done…and in a church, no less!

A movement from back of the church caused the sweat upon Ashley's brow to flash suddenly in the dim light. He sat up with a start, calling out: "Hello?"

There was no answer and Ashley withdrew his pistol. He stood up and walked towards the sound of the commotion, his boots creaking upon the wooden floor.

"Stand up," he said softly, allowing the intruder to see that he was armed. The faint light revealed a thin face, with big eyes, black as coal.

"Step over here, into the light," Ashley ordered.

The intruder did so, and they stood staring at one another. He was revealed to be a boy of no more than sixteen years; Ashley suspected even less. He was youthfully gangly, but his wide shoulders foreshadowed a brawny physique as he aged. His face was swarthy, almost like that of an Italian, and Ashley thought to himself that this boy could have been a young Borgia. His features were dark and patrician, with wide dark eyes and a head full of black hair. He reminded Ashley greatly of someone he had met before but could not place.

"What's your name, son?" he said.

"I'm not your son." The boy's tone was defiant but his words were well spoken, albeit inflected with a heavy drawl.

"Well, what are you up to?" Ashley tried again.

The boy shrugged. "Nothing. Just walking."

"Sit down," Ashley said, motioning toward a pew.

The boy obeyed and scrutinized the man before him. A tall, well-made cavalry officer, he wore a new, finely woven tunic coupled with beautiful silken sash tied into a lover's knot. He had the fine face of an aristocrat, and discerning grey eyes, which were uncomfortably focused on him.

"So you're a private? Who is your commanding officer?" Ashley queried.

"Why should I tell you?" the boy shrugged his shoulders. "You'll just turn me in for being out after hours."

"I won't," said Ashley, smiling. "On my honor as a gentleman."

The boy scoffed. "I've never met a gentleman, so I don't know if your honor's worth an Indian head cent."

Ashley rolled his eyes. "I used to think that it was worth something, but you've probably given an accurate measurement of it's value of late."

The boy shrugged his shoulders and made himself comfortable on the pew.

"So," Ashley asked, crossing his legs as he spoke. "Would you at least tell me your name?"

The boy pondered the question before blurting out, "Why don't you tell me yours?"

Ashley tried not to smile at the boy's immense sense of dignity and self-assurance; he was fortunate that he had not attempted such sass on an officer more concerned with proper protocol than Ashley was.

"Major Ashley Wilkes, of Cobb's Legion."

"Oh! I thought you were just an ordinary soldier."

"I am," Ashley said. "We are all of us ordinary men underneath all the trappings. Some of the officers seem to forget that fact."

"You're alright," the boy said approvingly.

"Thank you," Ashley said, attempting a different tactic. "So, your parents allowed you to enlist? You can't possibly be more than say, sixteen?"

"Fifteen," the boy whispered conspiratorially. "And I don't have any parents."

"You shouldn't be fighting. You should be in school."

"Nah," the boy shrugged. "School's not for me. I like to march. I carry a flag now, but I'm going to get a rifle next year."

"We'll all be fortunate to have rifles next year…" Ashley mused aloud. "Don't mind me, son; I'm just thinking aloud. I don't mean anything by it."

"Seems to me like too much thinking does more harm than good, anyway." The boy smiled.

"I do believe you're right. So, my young soldier, you've not any parents…any relatives?"

"Nope."

"You're remarkably well spoken, for one who is not suited for school," Ashley raised an eyebrow and the boy laughed.

"Alright, alright. My Pa put me in school."

"Aha!" Ashley said triumphantly, "and your father, who is he?"

"Just someone," the boy said casually, "he's not much of a father, if you know what I mean."

"Distant, you mean?"

"Nope. More like absent."

"Ah. And your mother?"

"Never seen her. She used to send me little presents and notes, but she doesn't anymore."

"So you're a…"

"Bastard." The boy spoke evenly. "So, why were you here tonight, Major?"

Ashley hoped that the boy didn't notice the grimace he made at the question. "Well, I…I suppose I came here to think about things."

"Like what?"

"Well, my wife, for one."

"Ah," the boy grinned broadly, "I can understand that."

"You're a bit too young for…" Ashley began, but stopped as the boy burst out in fresh laughter.

"I know everything there is to know about women. Grace Anne showed me everything before I ran off and joined up with the army."

Ashley didn't need to inquire as to the nature of the boy's association with Grace Anne and he glossed over the matter with another question. "Surely you can't know _everything _about women, at your age?"

"What's there to know? 'Sides that they always want what they can't have. I tried to get Grace Anne to notice me for a year and a half, then I tell her I'm running away and enlisting and she's on me like stink on a Junebug! I'm right, aren't I?"

They sat there, staring at one another, and Ashley Wilkes saw a child who was infinitely more mature than himself.

"You know what I mean, though, right?"

"I can understand that, yes," Ashley replied. "So, young master. Since you understand women so well, perhaps you could answer a question for me."

"Shoot," the boy said.

"Suppose that I had a friend, in desperate need of advice. My friend is happily married to the most wonderful woman in the world, but has become the unwilling recipient of the attention of another."

"Does this friend of yours care 'bout this other woman?"

"Very much. She's an old friend."

"That's all? Well, why doesn't he just tell her that he's in love with his wife?"

"Well, that's the trouble," Ashley sighed. "He doesn't know that he's in love…"

The boy nodded his head, indicating that he had heard, but that Ashley had given the wrong answer.

"Is this other woman pretty?"

"Yes."

"Is the wife?"

"Yes, of course."

"I see. No wonder your friend's in a dilemma. So, what's he going to do about it?"

A curious pride settled on the man's face. "He's going to try to lose himself in this war. And he's going to regain his honor and then, if he lives, he's going to return to his wife."

"And what about that other woman?"

Ashley's face twisted. "Sometimes, hard choices must be made. Ties must be severed for the sake of honor. You must defer to me in this, young master, for I've lived longer than you. Trust me when I say that life is not worth living without honor. That's what we are all fighting for…"

The boy leaned back in the pew and sighed loudly. "That may be what you're fighting for. Not me."

"I would bet all of my earthly goods that you have no concept of what you're fighting for. Nothing save the thrill of enlisting underage. You've never seen battle, never seen-"

"I've seen lots!" the boy interrupted. "And besides, I've wanted to run away for a long time, and this seemed as good a place to run as any. Besides, I'll get to kill me some Yankees!"

"You're trying to find yourself," Ashley said softly, "trying to create a place for yourself, and I'm just trying to lose myself. How serendipitous that our paths should cross."

"What's that mean?" the boy queried.

"Never mind, I'm just thinking aloud again. It must be very late, young master. You should probably return to your regiment."

The boy yawned and nodded. "I hope it works out for your friend, Major Wilkes."

"I hope so too," Ashley murmured as the boy stood up to leave. "Boy!" Ashley called out. The boy faced him once more. "Yes?"

"Try not to get yourself killed," Ashley said. "And I hope that you find whatever it is you're looking for."

"Thank you, Major," the boy replied. "Maybe someday we'll run into each other again and I can tell you all about it."

As Ashley watched the boy leave, he was filled with a peculiar sense of relief in having confided with someone, even if that someone was a complete stranger. And although Ashley did not know it, the boy did survive the battle, carrying with him the memory of the splendid looking cavalry officer who had been kind to him, and always wondering which of the two women won him over in the end…

. . Nine Years Later . .

"Pub's filling up, eh? I wasna sae soaked as you, but the rain's bad enough for a' that!" A young man was addressing his companion, a swarthy-faced youth of about the same age as the two of them sat at the bar eating shepherd's pie. The young men had flagged down one of the ambling local goods trains and ridden with an engine driver from Jonesboro to Atlanta, where they had taken up temporary lodging in the saloon, if only to enjoy a hot meal and a break from the rain.

"The rain's been falling for two whole days, son," the bartender refilled their pints at the wordless request of the darker one. "Shouldn't be too much longer, I hope."

"Aye, nae doubt," said the redheaded Scot as he extended a large hand. "Tommy Mackenzie, do I nae you?"

"I think I'd recall the hair," the bartender said good-naturedly, "your friend have a name, or does he let you do all the talking?"

"Well, he doesna make sic a pleasant companion. If I hadna known, I woulda left him back in Petersburg where I found him, drunk on his wee arse!"

"Lucky I'm wiped out," the dark boy spoke, "else I'd pound you for that sass."

"Oh aye!" Tommy rolled his eyes. "This is Luke. Bad enough for a'that."

"Luke," the bartender shook his hand. "You boys planning on stopping here for awhile?"

"Nope," Luke answered quickly. "We're on our way to California. I have a quick personal matter to tend to here, and then we'll be on our way."

"Hope you're not figuring on finding gold, son," the bartender chuckled, "ain't been no gold in California in years. In fact, the lady I let this place from is married to Rhett Butler; supposed to be the biggest speculator in the whole South, is what they say."

"Really?" Luke said nonchalantly, cutting into the flaky crust with evident enjoyment. "So, he still lives here in town?"

"Well, it was a big mess up in the big house…that's where they live, over on Peachtree Street. Apparently, his wife, that's my landlady, mind…well apparently she was two-timing him, and last month their little girl died and now her sister-in-law. Funeral's today, as a matter of fact. So you see, big mess."

"'Tis stories like that that make me glad that I wasna born a rich man," Tommy chimed in.

Luke fell silent and Tommy observed the sudden change in his companion. They had been friends since the war, when they had both been starry-eyed flag bearers with dreams of military glory and adventure. When the war had ended, the boys had become men, and the pair of them had worked odd jobs all over the country. They'd held every conceivable occupation-roustabouts on the Mississippi, cattle drivers in Montana, and one season of cotton planting in Alabama-but never stayed long in a particular city. The sun had weathered both of their complexions, although Tommy was pink cheeked while Luke's skin was a sort of mottled mahogany. They thrived on the nomadic lifestyle, and had little thought of settling down. With the passing of the years, Luke's New Orleans accent had become less drawling and his sentences much shorter. But the women loved him, even if he was a man of few words, and Tommy joked that Luke had a different girl waiting in every town they visited.

Luke muttered something under his breath and stood up, but would not say anything further to the bartender. "I'm going for a walk," he said to Tommy. "Be back after while."

"Fine. But doona expect me to be awaitin on you. That bawdyhouse we passed is looking mighty promising to ma weary body."

"Suit yourself," Luke shrugged as he walked out into the rain.

The cemetery was on his right, and he snapped his hat off of his head with respect as a hearse passed by, followed by at least twenty packed carriages. Morbid curiosity filled him, and he looked up at the sky, as if searching for something. He stepped easily over the wrought iron railing and followed the funeral party. No one else would think of it, he thought wryly, crashing a funeral. Yet something compelled him to continue, something outside his own detached curiosity. Unbeknownst to the young man, another figure was watching him walk across the graves and pause a fair distance from the mourning party.

As the hearse came to a stop at the final resting place of the departed, a hand touched the young man's shoulder, and he whirled around, finding himself standing face to face with none other than his long absent father.


	2. What I'm Looking For

**Note: So, Starbucks is 'the place to be' for writing this little story. Reviews are great! ****Thank you****! Let me know how it's progressing. I do want to forewarn any younger readers that although this is still a 'T' rated fic, there is some language in this chapter that is not young reader friendly. **

**2**

The moment of recognition came over Rhett Butler instantly as he watched his son stand outlined against the grey sky. My God, he's a man! Pride, resentment, and a sweeping wave of anger overcame the older man as he fixed his eyes upon the younger version of himself. God damn him for coming here!

"Mr. Butler," the younger version of Rhett spoke.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Rhett growled.

"I was passing through," the youth snapped back. "I recognized your carriage. Even after all these years."

Rhett gazed at his son, so tall and strikingly good looking, then back toward the gravesite, where a crowd was gathering, their umbrellas shielding them from the drizzle.

"They've all seen you," Rhett muttered, then motioned for Luke to follow him.

"I don't do funerals," Luke hissed.

"You don't have a choice."

Rhett grabbed the strong arm of his son, and promptly steered him toward the back of the gathered assembly.

"Are you not going to stand with your wife?" Luke whispered anxiously, scanning the crowd for a woman missing a husband.

Rhett shook his head. "Circumstances are strained between us."

"How nice for you," he said sarcastically. "But why should I be forced to endure this, then?"

"Because you have already entered the funeral party, and in the South," Rhett said, his voice dangerously low, "funerals are the most important aspect of honoring life; and this particular one is seeking honor the life of a saint."

"And why, might I ask, are you invited? You've never been one to seek out such company."

His eyes blazed dangerously. "Do not mock me, boy. Not now. Not here."

Luke shivered and ran a large hand through his wavy black hair. "Who else is going to be here? Your wife?"

"Yes, Scarlett will be here. She was Mrs. Wilkes's sister-in-law by her first marriage."

Wilkes. Luke had heard that name before, and opened his eyes wider. "Won't it make it harder on you for me to be standing here?"

"No, not really. Who I'm with isn't important now. What she thinks is irrelevant, or what anyone thinks, really. Besides, I'm only here for the funeral; my train leaves at six o'clock."

Again, Luke's keen eyes scanned the still arriving crowd. Even in the rain, there had been a large turnout. All the black crepe! Never in his life had Luke felt so conscious of the redundancy of the color…but then he saw her. Her beauty was striking; her hardened eyes, a clear emerald green, narrowed at the sight of them. She was all done up in a fancy gown of black henrietta and melrose fabric trimmed with crepe around the sleeves, although it was rather crumpled from sitting in the carriage, and she advanced towards them with a fierce intensity in her gait.

"My dear Scarlett," Rhett said, his voice hollow and deeply facetious. Her eyes fixed him, then turned to the young man standing next to him. "I would like you to meet a very good friend of mine, Luke Kershaw. Luke, this is my wife." Scarlett's gaze passed from Rhett's face to Luke Kershaw and widened, narrowed, then rested stilly upon him. She seemed slightly short of breath, and placed her hand on her mouth in an instinctive gesture; just standing there, she stared stupidly at the younger version of Rhett Butler.

"Do close your mouth, Scarlett, before you cause a scene."

A look of profound shock swept across her face, then quickly was replaced by raw anger. "How dare you? I mean it, Rhett! How dare you? Here! At Melly's funeral. I could kill you! I could, I could!"

Rhett sat back on his heels and let out a wry chuckle. "Oh Scarlett, how humorous you are. You're no credit to dear Miss Melly, are you? After all the care you put into your performance yesterday, too…do try to something about Ashley, Scarlett, he looks like he's going to keel over himself. Not that I wouldn't be glad to see the last of him."

"Couldn't you at least pretend to be sorry that she's gone?" Scarlett snapped.

For a moment, Rhett didn't answer, but turned his head away. He bit the tremor from his lips, and put a bright smile on them, although it belied the ragged tone of his voice. "Do not presume to tell me how to mourn her. But as they say, we are what we are."

"You don't fool me," she said, clenching her hands together.

His face lost its smile. "Ashley is waiting, Scarlett."

There was no indication by a reaction of rage or indignation that she had even heard what he had said, but she backed away from Rhett as though he had slapped her across the face.

Abruptly, Luke broke the uncomfortable silence between them as she disappeared into the crowd. "Did you love your wife?"

"Yes, once."

"Did she love you?"

"No. She married me because I promised her fun. Then when I told her that it was over, she clung to me like a child clinging to its parent."

"So you used her, and now you've dropped her?"

"Let me give you a piece of advice, Luke Kershaw Butler. A man who has nothing to lose has everything to gain, and a man who avoids the entrapment of love and marriage has absolutely no chance of getting burned by it."

"Let me remind you, sir, that I have no claim to your surname, nor do I want use of it."

"Fair enough. So I suppose you're disappointed in me?"

"No, I don't think so. I rather admire you for it, actually. But I do feel sorry for you both, and I am even more determined never to fall into the same trap."

"Admire me?" his tone was a little sad. "There's nothing left to admire. I'm old, I've run my course. Let me make it through this, then I'm off to home."

"Back to New Orleans?"

"No, Charleston. Make long overdue peace with my people."

"Ah," the boy said blankly. "Well, you were kind to her in the end. You got rid of her. She's better off without you."

His lips quivered for a moment, but then the impassive expression settled upon his face.

**. . . .**

Scarlett lifted her gaze from Rhett and his son and looked up at Ashley. There was something awful in his grey eyes, something that rendered him dark and chilling and unearthly.

Hesitantly, she placed a hand upon his arm. He leaned forward and put his own shaking hand into Scarlett's own. "She can't be dead. She can't be. She was perfect, Scarlett. All that we weren't. She can't be dead."

She reared back, stunned by his outburst, which was attracting attention from the mourners, namely his sister India. "You've got to be strong Ashley, for Beau. At least today. Be strong today, then you can cry all you want to tomorrow."

He looked at her with bewildered eyes, filled with pain. "Beau?"

"Yes, Beau! Your boy, Ashley! Your boy who I love as much as my own. She damn near died giving him to you, so you had better not disappoint her! Understand?"

He licked his lips, then seemed to come to a decision. "You take him, Scarlett. For a while, at least. He needs a better father than me, and Rhett…Rhett is a far better father and husband than I am."

"No Ashley," Scarlett's coldly fierce gaze stilled his silent tears. "You're wrong about that."

The cemetery was packed now; the Atlanta Old Guard were all there who could be there. The Elsings, the Whitings, the Merriwethers, the Pecards, the Meades. And the Wilkes and Burr cousins from Macon, too, and even a few from Clayton County, Suellen for one. Hope was blighted, the mood of the mourners as grey as the sky above them, as though Melly had been the sun, and she would never shine her soothing light upon them again.

Sleep on, Melly, Scarlett thought as she observed the wooden casket. You've certainly picked quite the time to leave us. Pity us, me and the children, and your poor husband and boy. You died not knowing about Ashley and me; well, I'm sure you know now. While I groped in the dark for Ashley, you instinctively knew that everything I wanted was in my grasp…and when I reached out for it, it was lost! You knew that Rhett was for me and I for him, and now he's gone, Melly. Our marriage is just as dead as you are. Oh God!

She pressed Rhett's handkerchief to one cheek, then the other. No one in the crowd could have told by her face that she thought of anything but her grief for her beloved sister-in-law, yet the very shrewd could see that her gaze was fixed upon the two gentlemen standing on the opposite side of the burial plot. Two broad faces, with high cheekbones and identical aquiline noses. Very thick dark brows hooded two inky pairs of eyes, and if Rhett's hair hadn't begun to succumb to silver, they could have passed for brothers rather than that other repulsive, unmentionable relation.

Surely not! He can't have a son, he can't! But her own mind betrayed her, and she recalled little barbed comments he had made here and there; and then there was his delight in Bonnie, and his spirited declaration that boys were of no use. Was it because he already had one?

The funeral service passed, and Melly's coffin was lowered into the ground. Ashley, surprisingly, held himself together credibly and then departed before too many of them could get a hold of him and bombard him with stories of Melanie. Scarlett was glad that he had escaped; he did not need witnesses to his grief. But he couldn't be expected to go to work; no, she'd have to engage someone else to run the mill in his stead while he grieved. I've gained another child, she bemoaned her fate again internally, and I've lost my lover. In vain, her eyes sought Rhett, but he too had disappeared, along with the beautiful boy who resembled him so. I won't think about it, she told herself, I won't think about it right now. I'll think about it tomorrow.

**. . . .**

"That was interesting," Luke muttered as he walked alongside his father.

"Yes, I think that it's safe to say that you stole the show."

"Glad to be of service," Luke said with heavy sarcasm.

"So, do you need anything? Money? If you do, take it now. I don't intend on returning for a very long time."

"Nor do I," Luke retorted. "I'm going to California."

"Making your fortune, eh?"

Luke shrugged. "Just looking for the next great adventure. Friend of mine has kin there that want us to do some land surveying."

"Do you have any experience?"

"Nope. But I'm a fast learner."

Rhett laughed a soundless laugh. "I'm sure you are. Well, goodbye then."

Luke stared awkwardly at his father's extended hand. "Goodbye," he took it gingerly.

"Good luck," Rhett said, then returned to his waiting carriage, leaving his son standing alone on the street in contemplative silence.

"Luke! Luke!" Tommy was huffing and puffing as he ran down the street, his clothes hastily thrown on and his red hair mussed.

"You're nae gonna believe it. Tha' wee girl! Stola all our money!"

"Slow down, Tommy. What the hell are you saying?"

"Well, donna make sic a ruckus, now. If I hadna known, I woulda never gone in that bawdyhouse!"

"Are you saying that the whore stole our money, Tommy?"

"Notthat," the Scot looked miserable. "I didna know wha' her fee was. And all we had was nae enough to cover it and give her a quid for her trouble."

"A quid? Speak American, Tommy! You spent all our goddamn hard-earned money on a girl, and you want to give her a tip! Un-fucking-believable. Jesus Christ!"

"Donna swear like that! Ya want the wrath o' God down aboot us?"

"I don't really give a shit as long as that two hundred dollars manifests itself along with Him. How are we going to earn it back? I have ten bucks in my pocket, that's not even enough for a room…" Luke paused as an idea came to him. "Tommy, do you remember the name of that street the bartender was talking about earlier…Peach Road or something?"

"Peachtree?" Tommy looked bewildered. "That's nae help, mate!"

"Peachtree. That's it. C'mon, Tommy. Let's see if I can impose on my familial connections."


	3. Staying

**Note: Rubeanddodo, after two solid hours writing this chapter, I'll take you up on that latte. Wickedwms, I'm sorry to hear about your foot surgery. That is NO fun, and I promise to keep updating regularly as long as they continue to serve said latte. I'm going to own stock in my neighborhood Starbucks if this turns into a long story. (I wish I were a Jo Rowling or Margaret Mitchell!) I can't thank everyone enough for the reviews, and I hope that you enjoy this! **

**3**

The trip up the long hill toward Peachtree Street brought back no memories of New Orleans for Luke; no busy shops, no Bourbon Street, no voodoo priestesses yelling out fortunes, no whores plying their trade… Atlanta was as dull and colorless as the weather, and he couldn't wait to be out of the city. Damn Tommy to everlasting Hell for being so careless with their kitty. He had sent his friend to the depot to see if any of the conductors would be willing to take a pair of stragglers on one of the outbound trains, just in case; if his plan worked, it wouldn't come to that.

And then there had been his father, as usual, dealing out his particular brand of sarcastic, malevolent love. Only he would manage to run into the him on such a day, when there had been fewer than three face to face encounters with the man since he had reached his majority. His eyes flickered downward to the piece of paper in his hand, on which was scribbled the address. Surely they didn't live here! He had thought that Rhett would have had better taste. A wrought iron fence surrounded the property, and Luke flung the gate open with weary impatience, thinking that the house looked like a sore thumb, the way it stood out so on the street. But even to one who had been reared in a Creole mansion in New Orleans, the house was imposing. It was built in the style of a Swiss chalet, with a high mansard roof with a picket fence on the top and a tower made of fancy shingles at each end. Stained glass windows with red and blue glass rested inside the towers. It was an architectural horror, especially with the lovely Colonials on either side of it. The meticulously cut lawn surrounded the house and was finished with a variety of flowers; however, it merely made the lines of the house stand out harder against its surroundings rather than soften the effect.

As Luke walked across the lawn, the colored butler clad in silk livery waited on the front veranda, and waved broadly. The corners of the man's mouth crinkled up into a smile which faded only as Luke came face to face with him.

"Mah Lahd, suh, Ah don' though' you was Mist' Rhett!"

"Er, well, no." Luke muttered, handing the man his faded grey hat, who had outstretched his hand to receive it.

"Yah mus' be Mist' Rhett's kin, yah look jus' like Mist' Rhett. Lahd! Ah 'spect youz here tuh see Miz Scahlett, suh?"

"Sure," Luke said absently as the old man showed him in. He was too busy taking in the dimly lit hall, with its marble tiles and red wallpaper and great brass-railed staircase.

"Suh?" the butler stirred him from his thoughts. "Miz Scahlett's in duh drawin' room."

Scarlett Butler was sitting back in her wing chair, staring out the open window, apparently oblivious to the cold, damp air flooding in from it. Or, Luke thought as he took in the scent of the room, someone's been drinking enough brandy to leave an odor then been bathing in cologne to cover it. What a woman!

She was much more relaxed than she had appeared at the funeral. Her long, straight black hair was shockingly unpinned, and fell in a heap down the back of the chair. He had no clue as to her age, but suspected that she couldn't be old due to the lack of wrinkles on her face. Her eyes were like green cut glass, shimmering with tears which refused to fall down her magnolia white cheeks.

The young man crossed the red carpet silently and cleared his throat.

She turned around and nodded curtly, keeping the resentment he knew she surely felt at being disturbed from showing in her face, but she did not rise to greet him.

"Well, what was it…Luke?" Her tone became almost coy as she asked, "May I help you?"

She knows why I'm here, he thought. But perhaps not…she saw me with Rhett, she has no idea that we're not close….

If he played his cards right, the woman before him just might be his golden ticket.

"I wanted only to apologize," he began, his tone contrite. "Not only for startling you today, but for any disturbance my presence might have caused at your sister's funeral."

"Sister-in-law," Scarlett corrected.

"That's right; again, my apologies," he said, eyes twinkling.

"You're forgiven. Now I'll thank you to leave," she said.

Damn! He'd have to come up with something else.

"I must confess, Mrs. Butler, that I'm in Atlanta in search of a permanent position. And I was hoping to impose upon our acquaintance and seek your hospitality for the evening."

"Our acquaintance?" she said coolly, "of what, ten minutes? Why don't you ask Rhett to put you up at the National, since you're so cozy…"

"I daren't ask that, especially under the circumstances. He seemed so melancholy today that I didn't want to put any more undue strain on him."

"Yet you had no problem coming to me? I wonder why that is?"

"It was his suggestion, ma'am."

Bingo! Her eyes flickered with interest.

"It would look bad," she said, as though she spoke to herself rather than to him. "You look too much like him as it is…people would talk."

"He said you'd say that."

Luke hoped that it was something that Rhett would have said, unsure of his father's personality of late. He must have been right; her curiosity was piqued again. Perhaps he could pull it off after all.

"As much as I would like to indulge his every whim, I'm afraid that I'm set to go to my family's plantation tomorrow morning, first thing."

Shit!

He sat down in the chair facing hers and crossed his legs in a manner that was reminiscent of Rhett. He knew that she noticed, too.

"That's a pity. You see, he's planning on returning," he lied, "I heard it today, straight from his own mouth. His absence will be a short one…I would hate to think that you would miss him."

Again she almost simpered. "Well, I suppose that I don't mind delaying my trip a few days. But no more than that. I need to go home."

"I'm happy to hear that, Mrs. Butler. And I beg only a few days respite at the most, then I will resume my travels and you need never to set eyes on me again."

"You know," she said as she appraised him, "if you're going to be taking up a room in my house, I think that I'm entitled to ask you a few questions. After all, you did give me the shock of my life this afternoon and now you're asking for free room and board…don't you think that I'm entitled to some answers?"

He didn't particularly enjoy the subtle hint that she was doing him a favor and the implication that he should be grateful, but he could play along…at least until he got what he wanted out of her.

"Indeed you are, Mrs. Butler. And I can't thank you enough for your graceful handling of this situation. You are indeed, as great a lady as Rhett made you out to be."

Her voice was suddenly harsh. "Do not mock me in my own house! How like Rhett! Did he tell you to say it just like that, too? How cruel he is!"

He had blundered badly, and he quickly put on his poker face.

"I apologize if you're offended, ma'am; I can assure you that I merely took his words at face value."

Vindictively she asked, "How old are you, anyway?"

"Twenty-four," he replied.

"As old as that! Why you're only four years younger than-er-a friend of mine."

"Ah," he replied, trying to hold back a smile. So his father had married a much younger woman. Only twenty-eight, eh? How had someone as pretty and perky as this little dish married a man who was, from Luke's youthful vantage point, only a few years away from being considered elderly? She surely wouldn't have fit in with his father's friends in New Orleans; despite the garish décor of her home, she struck Luke as refined and ladylike.

"I always assumed that he was going to see a little boy in New Orleans all those years ago, not a-"

"Teenager?" he finished for her. "What year might you be referring to?"

"Well, I was married to Mr. Kennedy…oh never mind."

"I ran away from school and joined the army in '64," he said conversationally. "After it was over, Rhett got arrested and I had to make my own way for awhile. He never knew I had enlisted, so he tried to locate me several times and I guess he figured I would always go back to the city where I was born and raised. I've only seen him a handful of times since…"

"So you never met my boy, then, when Rhett took him to New Orleans?"

Luke shook his head. "He wouldn't have wanted his real children mixing with me." A shadow momentarily dimmed his bright eyes, but then he smiled as she continued.

"Well, Wade's not exactly his, but…it's all complicated, Mr…"

"Kershaw. I don't use Butler; never have."

"Ah, Rhett's middle name."

"Yes. But it's just a name. Really. I have no claim to anything that belongs to you, or your children. And I am very sorry for any difficulties Rhett and you are having. Although, if I be bold, I would never treat my wife so…especially if she were as beautiful as you."

That did it. Luke knew that he had struck gold.

. . . .

She accepted the blatant flattery easily; having never seen a man more suited to her current taste: Rhett all over, albeit younger, healthier, and more attentive to her. He had to be aware of how he looked, and so did Rhett, Scarlett thought with pleasure. Perhaps he'll be jealous! Such a young, splendid looking thing in my house!

And yet, there was an element of sweetness in it all. Perhaps Rhett was sending the boy into enemy territory to determine if she had really changed, after all. Yes, that had to be it! The boy/man was there on Rhett's behalf. And yet there was an aloofness about him, as though some part of him was not to be trusted. Again, she attributed it to the fact that he was Rhett's offspring…but who else did he belong to?

"So," she asked, "where is your mother?"

"Never seen her to this day," he replied.

"Ah," Scarlett thought. So Rhett had kept her identity a secret from him. "Surely Rhett must have mentioned her to you."

"Believe it or not, he wanted to raise me somewhat respectably. I never lacked for a thing. And he's of the opinion that I could make myself rich in any number of fields."

"Oh really? Then why haven't you?"

"Touché, Mrs. Butler! I would like to blame my youthful inexperience, but I must say, clearly you are far younger than I and already outshine all of my endeavors with your own heralded business head."

So Rhett had told him about her business sense; and how clever he was to flatter her so! I feel sixteen again! She thought with a twinge of regret, I've forgotten what it's like to receive an complement from a man that isn't laced with sarcasm. And what a man!

"My name is Scarlett. Please, call me Scarlett."

"Thank you, Scarlett," Luke smiled.

Head lowered, she watched him closely as his eyes took in the room. Perhaps he was admiring her exquisite taste that his father could never seem to appreciate.

At that moment, Pork stuck his head in and said, "Miz Scahlett, Mist' Wade and Miz Ella's back!"

God's nightgown! She'd forgotten all about them after she'd sent Prissy the wire to bring them back from Frank's sister's family in Marietta.

"Send them in, Pork," she said, looking at Luke in admiration tinged with envy for the freedom he enjoyed as a young bachelor.

"My children," she informed him. "If they don't look a thing like you, it's because you're not related. I was married twice before I married Rhett."

"Ah," he said demurely. "I had no idea."

"I was only sixteen when I married Charles Hamilton," she defended herself, lest he think her old. "He left me a widow after two months of marriage, and then my second husband was killed in a Klan raid."

"Interesting," he said tranquilly, "and your children?"

I hardly know them, she thought to herself. They appeared in the door like little wraiths, dressed from head to toe in black for Melly, whose death they had had to hear about from Prissy.

At eleven, Wade Hampton was slight, and had a proud, sensitive profile. Ella, though only six, had something of her grandmother and namesake in the way she held her hands, but little else was remarkable about her, save her shocking head of red hair. Suddenly conscious of their fixed regard, Scarlett smiled at them with tenderness she had usually reserved for Bonnie, then motioned for them to enter the room.

"Hello, I'm Luke Kershaw," Luke said, rising from his chair and holding out his hand to Wade. "You have to be Wade. Yes, Uncle Rhett's told me all about you."

"Really?" Wade looked genuinely pleased. "Is Uncle Rhett your real uncle?"

Luke turned to Scarlett briefly, then with a smile said, "Why yes. Of course!"

Wade accepted the lie without question, then asked, "Mother, is Uncle Rhett here?"

"Uncle Rhett had to go on business, Wade Hampton," Scarlett said evenly, "but he's sent Luke here to stay with us a few days. Isn't that nice? Then we'll be off to Tara by week's end."

"Uncle Rhett, too?" Ella piped up.

God willing, Scarlett thought, casting a furtive glance at Luke, who lifted Ella's small, limp hand in his own and kissed it. Shy little Ella's eyes gleamed, and she gaped at him with her mouth open, as if she had just been kissed by God.

"And what's your name, little lady?" Luke asked her.

She looked stupidly at him, as if the answer to his question alluded her. Oh, silly Ella!

"Her name is Ella," Wade said on his sister's behalf.

"Children," Scarlett cut in, "go upstairs, please. Luke," she addressed the younger version of her husband. "Pork will show you to the guest suite. I hope it will meet with your approval."

He fixed her with his father's black eyes and said, "Perfect."

When they had gone, Scarlett stretched out again in her chair, staring out the open window and smiling, having decided that she would not require brandy for the duration of her houseguest's stay…


	4. Out of Control

**Note: I've been an epic failure as far as updating; school has started and it really gets in the way of the writing process. But I'm back and hopefully this chapter was worth the wait. For all the nice folks who have been waiting patiently, keep those virtual lattes/chocolate covered espresso beans coming! **

**4**

Three hours after Luke had been settled into the guest suite on the third floor, he was summoned to dinner. There was a pain in his chest as he walked down the stairs, feeling keenly the sting of his deceit, that he was preying on the goodwill of decent people that had done nothing at all to him save for their connection to Rhett. If it hadn't been for his run-in with the man at the funeral, he would have been gone from the city long since. He looked around him at the richness of the house in which he was residing sourly - recalling his father foremost in his mind, the cause of the quietness of the house. Served him right; and Luke would take full advantage of his father's money, and if he had the flirt and flatter Scarlett to get it, so be it.

Somehow the whores his father had brought with him when he had visited Luke as a youngster in New Orleans had never intruded in his thoughts like Scarlett did; perhaps because this was his wife, not a whore at all, that and that she was only a few years his senior.

Everyone in the house, from the Negro servants to the two children seemed uncomfortable around him, their eyes casting furtive glances in his direction but shrinking like rabbits as he approached.

Only Scarlett greeted him with a radiant smile from her position at the head of the large table, her pure profile as she looked down at him unspeakably beautiful. Damnation, but she was desirable! How had someone as refined and lovely as she married a Scalawag like Rhett Butler? Furthermore, what could she have possibly done to make Rhett leave her?

Whatever the reasons, Luke was ever so conscientious of his vulgar loud voice and his bewilderment when faced with more than one fork. Scarlett was kind enough not to call attention to it, only whispering encouragingly to Wade Hampton to sit up straight and then snapping at Ella to straighten the white bow atop her ginger curls.

There was another one, Luke thought as he cut his piece of roast beef. There's another rich girl in the making - all the same - poked and prodded into submission until there's no personality left in them at all.

Wade Hampton cleared his throat and asked in a whispered tone. "How long will you be staying with us, Luke?"

"Wade Hampton! It's _Mister Kershaw_." Scarlett corrected the boy, who sank lower into his chair.

Luke's back stiffened. Poor kid.

"It's fine, Wade, you can call me Luke. Really. There's no need to remember your manners on my account." He wilted under Scarlett's stern gaze. "That is, if your mother is agreeable."

Wade looked anxiously at his mother, who looked rather put out at her admonition being so summarily dismissed; however, she said nothing, which emboldened him to keep talking. No one had ever been particularly nice to him except for Uncle Rhett.

"Thank you, Luke," he smiled at the man sitting to his left. "So, what do you do?"

Scarlett drummed her fingers expectantly on the table, smirking slightly as she gazed down at Luke.

"Well," Luke plastered a smile on his face. "I do all sorts of things. I was in the army, during the war. I was wounded at Petersburg, in the shoulder. But my friend Tommy and I made it out alive. Since then, we've traveled from place to place, doing this and that. You know, I've slept in the fanciest hotels and under bridges…not much difference when you think about it, Wade. But I came this way for a couple of different reasons."

"And?" Scarlett asked, "we're dying to hear them."

"Well," Luke dabbed his mouth with his napkin. "I've been feeling a keen urge to settle down somewhere. You know, set up shop."

"You mean get married?" Ella piped up.

"You do talk!" Luke laughed, which caused the shy child to blush. "Well, I must admit that I'm not a marrying man. Of course, I could get used to the idea if I were to meet the right woman. Someday. I'm young still, to be married."

He looked pointedly at Scarlett, who set her glass down with a clank.

Wade looked thoughtfully at Luke. "You could work for Uncle Ashley."

"Really? And what pray tell does Uncle Ashley do?" Luke said pleasantly.

"He owns the lumber mills," Wade said, having finally found his tongue. "Just outside the city. Mother used to own them all, but she sold them."

"Wade - " Scarlett began to chide him again, but Luke interrupted.

"I've actually worked in a sawmill before. In Oregon. Have you ever heard about the Oregon Territory, Wade?"

The boy nodded. "Yes, Beau and I looked it up in our atlas. You want to see our atlas after supper? Beau and I are hoping to be famous explorers when we grow up."

"Oh for Heaven's sake, Wade Hampton, you wanted to be a lawyer last week," Scarlett took a sip of wine and rolled her eyes.

"That was years ago, Mother," Wade said seriously. "And you said that I couldn't go to Harvard. Anyway, Beau and I have it all worked out. We'll work in the store after we finish school and then we'll save up our money and go out west and discover new trails like Lewis and Clark. Except we'll be Hamilton and Wilkes - well - Beau wants it to be Wilkes and Hamilton, but it sounds better my way."

"It sounds like a fine plan," Luke told Wade firmly. "If you want to do it, I think that you should. What about you, Ella, what do you want to do?"

Ella's eyes widened at his address. "I - I - I don't know."

"Well, you've got plenty of time," Luke said conversationally.

"Indeed," Scarlett rolled her eyes again and took a deeper sip of wine. "Run away, children, Mother needs to talk to Luke alone."

"But we haven't had dessert," Ella whined.

"Have Cookie send it upstairs," Scarlett dismissed her younger child with a flick of her wrist.

"May I go over to Beau's?" Wade questioned hesitantly. "He might like to come over and play."

Scarlett sighed. "Very well, Wade Hampton. But if his Aunt India is still there, you probably won't have any luck getting him to come out."

"Oh, I can sneak through the window -" Wade's voice trailed off as he realized that he was disclosing a grave secret and his mother had the power to put a stop to it.

"That's fine, Wade. Just be home before dark, please," Scarlett said.

Luke sat straight in his chair as the children departed, Ella for the nursery and Wade for the unseen Beau's house. Beau had to be the dead woman's son…had to be… And then there was the mysterious Uncle Ashley. Ashley Wilkes. The name was familiar to Luke; he had most assuredly heard it someplace before.

He was right, and he didn't have to wait long to realize it.

No sooner had Wade left, he returned, bringing with him a white-lipped, small-boned boy of about nine and a tall, lean man with silvery hair.

"Ashley!" Scarlett stood up and took the man's hand.

Luke had never seen a figure look so remote, so devoid of human feeling as this man, dressed sloppily in a dull black suit. It was as if he attended only in body, while his spirit moved far, far away. But he looked down at Scarlett absently and seemed to recollect himself, giving her a small smile.

"I was weary of receiving callers," he said vacantly. "Wade was kind enough to invite us over."

This was getting out of control, Luke thought as Scarlett poured Ashley a drink, which he downed entirely too quickly. All he needed was for Rhett to show up; that would complete the hilarity.

"This is Luke, Ashley," Scarlett said with feigned cheerfulness. "Rhett's nephew. He's going to be staying with us for a few days. He's offered to help you at work. You know, look over the books for you. He's very skilled."

At her insistent nod, Luke smiled on command, but Ashley seemed to look right through him.

"Good Heavens! The mill. Oh, Scarlett. I forgot to lock up before I left. I ran home when they sent for me."

Scarlett looked incredibly put out but reached out and comfortingly stroked his hair. Luke was discomfited by the scene, but he understood her meaning; it was hard not to feel sorry for the poor man.

"I've let you down, Scarlett," Ashley said in a defeated tone of voice, then slumped down in his chair, his head impacting with the table.

"Ashley!" Scarlett cried. "Help me, Luke! Let's put him in the parlor. On the sofa."

"I hate to speak out of turn, Scarlett, but shouldn't I take him _home_? Won't folks start talking if he stays the night?"

"No more than they will if he can barely walk into his own house. No wonder he followed Wade over here. Poor dear."

"He's not a child. People die all the time," he said callously as he grasped hold of Ashley's arms.

Scarlett fixed Luke with a hard stare. "People like Melly don't die all the time. You can't even begin to understand - "

"Sentimentality isn't my strong suit, Scarlett. I deal in reality. You would too if you were me."

"Well, you might change your tune if you stayed here long enough. Reality can become too bitter to swallow. We need an escape from time to time."

"You too, huh?" Luke smirked as he supported Ashley's weight easily, steering the older man in the direction of the parlor. "I simply change careers every time I require a change. That ensures that I never get bored."

"But you - you do intend to stay for awhile, don't you?" Scarlett looked hopeful as she watched him lay Ashley down on the velvet settee.

"For a few days…or a week…" Luke muttered. "I don't want to put you out."

"You won't," Scarlett replied, a little too quickly. Her hand touched the black sleeve of his coat and then fell.

"You're a beautiful woman, Scarlett." Luke said, his voice husky and pleasant. "For the life of me, I've yet to see what sort of difficulties could have ever caused Rhett to leave … even for a short time."

She seemed about to speak, but in the end her lids fell over tear-bright eyes as she looked at him, then back down to the sleeping form of Ashley, and she shook her head free.

"Look, Scarlett," Luke said, the burden of his lies stinging his heart. "I - "

He paused as he looked down at her, still stroking Ashley's hair and arranging a pillow behind his head for comfort. Her shoulders were bent as though her load was heavy, but she looked directly up into his face.

He had to tell her that he needed money. He could not stay in her presence a moment longer, allowing her to think of him as someone he most definately was not…

But before he could say another word, the sounds of an approaching carriage interrupted further conversation from either of them and they both moved toward the window.

It was Wade's voice from the foyer that confirmed what both of them had suspected but did not voice aloud.

"Uncle Rhett! Uncle Rhett, you're home!"

"Oh my God," Scarlett cried. "He can't know that Ashley's here. He _can't_."

"You distract him then, and I'll get him out of here."

"You can't do that, it'll attract attention and that's the last thing any of us need. Just - hide in here, with Ashley."

"Splendid," Luke rolled his eyes. "It'll be simpler if you don't tell him that I'm here, for that matter."

"Why ever not?"

"Well, he'll want to know where I am and then - "

"Ah, I suppose you're right. Well, I'll just see what Rhett wants and then…he's probably just getting more things before he leaves…"

"Surely not," Luke said soothingly.

"Mother's in the parlor," they heard Wade say, then Rhett's voice as he greeted Beau and then Ella, who had obviously come downstairs.

"Go!" Luke shoved Scarlett towards the door. "Hurry!"

So she went out into the foyer, ready to face Rhett's rage or contempt or whatever else he had in store for her…

It had already spiraled out of control.


	5. With or Without You

**Note: Well folks, midterms are over and Luke has been driving me crazy for the past few days...I promise now to update more regularly, as he won't leave me alone until I finish his little story. For all of you wonderful readers who have been waiting patiently, my plea is the same: keep those virtual lattes/chocolate covered espresso beans coming! (Or just make my day and hit that review button). **

* * *

><p><strong>5<strong>

"It's you!" Scarlett whispered softly as she shut the parlor door behind her, beckoning Rhett forward. Her breath had seized within her lungs; he was barely two strides away! Her heart pounded at the thought of him knowing that both Luke and Ashley were behind the parlor door, in a room meant only for family...how respectable would _that_ appear?

"Go upstairs, Wade Hampton," she ordered.

"But, Mother -"

"Upstairs. Now."

Wade heaved a sigh but did as he was told, his shoulders slumped as he shuffled up the staircase, leaving his mother and stepfather to stare at one another.

"Is there…is there something wrong, Scarlett?"

"Why - wrong? Whatever makes you think that, Rhett darling?" she asked, a smile plastered upon her face.

"We met under rather unfortunate circumstances this afternoon, and I simply wanted to make certain that you were quite alright."

"Well, that was nice of you," Scarlett played hesitantly with the sleeve of her gown. "As you can see, I'm just fine, thank you, with or without you."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "That's it? You're not going to beg me to stay or throw yourself at my feet?"

She shook her head, cursing herself internally for her inability to do anything of the sort. But he had to leave, preferably quickly.

"I can sense a lost cause, once I know that it has really been lost," she said, defiance heavy in her voice.

"Well, I am glad you think so," he said. "Perhaps one day, divorce won't be so repugnant to you after all and we can just have it over and done with…"

"Whatever you want, Rhett," Scarlett shook her head, willing him to leave before he heard anything. Let him think she didn't care, she'd take it all back tomorrow - there'd be no tomorrow if he realized that Luke and Ashley were in her house. "I don't wish to discuss this. Besides, I've had a rather hard day, as you can imagine."

He nodded. "I'm sure that it has. Miss Melly was a very rare person. Very rare, indeed."

Suddenly, they both heard a loud banging sound coming from the direction of the parlor, causing Scarlett to freeze in terror and Rhett to jerk his head toward the direction of the commotion with a start.

"What the hell?"

"It's nothing," Scarlett said shakily.

"Nothing? Like hell it was." Rhett strode past Scarlett and towards the door. He placed his hand on the knob and moved to turn it…

"Rhett!" Scarlett cried.

"What?" Startled, he rounded to face her. "What is it, Scarlett?"

"Its…Its…"

"I'm sorry, Scarlett, I didn't quite hear that." He leaned forward toward her. "Scarlett? What is it?"

She gestured for him to come closer still. It was certainly not the opportune moment, but it had to be done. If he'd only let her…

He turned his head, just so that his ear was just above her mouth. "Well?"

She whispered in his ear. "There's something that I need you to do for me."

She did not wait for his response. Scarlett shoved her fingers through his thick dark hair and turned his face to her. Peering deeply into his eyes, she pressed her mouth to his, startling him. She immediately felt his fingers curl firmly about her wrist, but he didn't pull away. Rather, his lips were busy moving over hers, forcing her to yield to his own kiss…

**. . . .**

It was hard enough for Luke to maneuver both himself and Ashley Wilkes's limp form down the street, and even harder to make certain that they were both unseen. But they'd made it out of Scarlett's window undetected - surely they could make it a little bit further...

"Where did you say you lived again?" Luke addressed the man, who leaned heavily on his shoulder.

"Ivy Street, my good man," Ashley mumbled.

"Ivy Street. Great. Longest street in Atlanta," Luke complained. "Alright Ashley, let's carry on. Come on."

"Melly'll be waiting."

"Right, right, I know."

"That's it," Ashley managed, pointing at the small dwelling on the street corner.

"There's a hundred people there." Luke said, exaggerating the number only slightly, for the placed was packed, indeed. "Is there a back door?"

Ashley shook his head. "Would you like to sing?"

Luke raised an eyebrow. "You don't drink often, do you, Ashley?"

"Ashley!" a middle-aged woman dressed in stiffly starched crepe made her way to the throng and out to the street. "Oh my God - we've been looking all over for you and Beau! How dare you disappear like this? Dr. Meade has been out looking for the past hour…As for you, Captain Butler, I would think that you'd have a little more propriety than to get my brother intoxicated on the eve of his wife's funeral!"

"Ma'am," Luke grinned. "I apologize for any misunderstanding, but my name is Luke Kershaw. I'm Rhett's…nephew. And I simply did this poor man a favor by walking home with him. Although really, you can't be too hard on him for enjoying a few toddies. As you said, his wife did just die."

"Why you - oh - I don't know."

"I see you're rendered speechless by the innocence of his endeavors. Well, let me assure you, ma'am, you needn't have worried. Ashley here is fine, his son is fine. He's at my lovely Aunt Scarlett's house. I've just made her acquaintance, you see…I'm sure that you find her as lovely as I do."

"Well, I -I -"

"If you would, Madam, kindly allow me to take him inside, before he falls over in front of all of your company. I'll accompany him, if you'll tell me where he needs to go. I don't mind playing the role of his drinking companion."

"Why, you're…you're kind, sir."

"It's my pleasure, Miss … ?"

"Wilkes. India Wilkes is my name. And if you would take him inside and upstairs to the second bedroom. On the right."

"Very good. Good evening to you, Miss Wilkes."

Nodding his head, Luke took Ashley's arm and guided him through the front door and into the entry hall. Somehow, Luke noted with amusement, Ashley had managed to rein in his inebriated state of grief and mask himself with composure, although he was still holding onto Luke's arm for dear life to remain upright. God, but it was hot in the little house. No wonder Beau had wanted to escape, Luke thought to himself. Three small open windows were no match for the combined body heat of the throng…and the whole place smelled of perspiration and death.

They made their way up the stairs, blissfully unnoticed and Luke located the second door, pressed down upon the latch and pushed Ashley inside. He slipped in behind the older man, closing the door behind him with his hip. He made out the odor of oiled books on the shelves lining one of the walls, but he couldn't really see them, nor a bed on which to lay Ashley down. The room was utterly black. Within three steps, he heard Ashley hit something hard.

"Damn!" he yelped. "Damned bed!"

"You found it. Good thing," Luke smirked. "Sit down, Ashley. You need to sleep it off. Though I bet you'll enjoy a hell of a hangover tomorrow."

"Of that I have no doubt. Will I see you again, sir?"

"Probably. I'll have to find somewhere to sleep tonight…my clothes are all over on Peachtree Street and I have a feeling Rhett might not be feeling particularly happy to see me…We'll see, Ashley. We'll see…"

"You are welcome to stay here. Beau's room. Next door. He'll sleep at Wade's."

"Thanks," Luke shrugged. "I might just take you up on that. You know, Ashley, I am sorry about your wife. I don't really know you or anything, but I felt as if I should at least mention it."

"Thank you, Luke. You're a very kind young man."

"You're welcome. Well, I expect that I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Ashley murmured, his voice drifting off into sleep. "Scarlett always was fond of thinking about tomorrow…"


	6. Even Better Than the Real Thing

**Note: Dear Readers - I know I've been AWOL for a few months, and I have several ongoing stories! (Hopefully I still have readers! :D )**

**I have a good excuse for being away, as I got **_**married **_**in May to the love of my life! Planning a wedding/honeymoon gets in the way of writing my fan fiction. But I am back to reality- never fear!**

**Warning to the young ones - there is a little bit of lovey-dovey-ness in this chapter that may flirt with a mature rating. I think I am safe leaving it Rated T - since I assume most teens have read much more explicit material in the latest YA novels currently on bookstore shelves. **

**6**

Scarlett's heart was busily thudding within her chest. Panicked, she opened her mouth to tell him that there really was nothing in the parlor, but without warning his lips were moving over hers. She shivered as she felt his tongue ease into her mouth and began stroking the insides of her cheeks, twirling around her tongue. The lingering flavor of brandy remained on her tongue, and she focused on the taste of his mouth, not feeling at first his other hand moving between her legs and gently caressing her inner thigh.

Instinctively, Scarlett clamped her legs together. He lifted his mouth a scant breath from hers and laughed wryly. "Come now Scarlett, it is not as if it is the first time." He nudged her knees open just a bit, then touched her just _there. _"And I know you like this quite a lot."

_God, she did._ A low moan slipped from her lips. _But how_—Scarlett's eyes went wide—_how did this happen_? Her mind spun like a leaf caught in a whirlwind. _The children were upstairs—Luke and Ashley were locked in the parlor—there was no one to interrupt them—this is what she wanted, wasn't it_?

Suddenly he was lifting her, and then her back brushed the seat of the long sofa. He stood beside her as he slipped off his coat and unbuttoned his waistcoat, dropping them both to the floor. Within an instant, he'd unwound his cravat and unbuttoned his stiff white shirt. She peered up at him, taking in the faded scar which spread across his muscled chest and scored his abdomen. God's Nightgown. He was so very, very male. To her own embarrassment, moist heat began to collect between her thighs. What was she doing? But he _was_ her husband, wasn't he? He moved from the light, and she felt him part her knees. The cushion beneath her gave and she felt him move between her legs. And she did not want him to stop. Her eyes snapped open. She could let herself have this. Reclaim her one would know how she'd done it…unless Luke was eavesdropping at the parlor door's keyhole.

And in that moment, her decision was made. She raised a hand and ran it through his thick hair, holding him to her as she responded to his passionate kiss while she stroked his muscled chest.

"Mmm," he moaned, stealing one last kiss. He leaned back slightly and ran his fingertips over her breasts, making her arch into his touch. He moved lower and eased his hands over her belly, then beneath the rumpled skirts about her hips. He pushed up her silk chemise and petticoat. Scarlett closed her eyes. _Great balls of fire, this is madness_. But she wasn't going to stop him… not on her life.

. . . .

Rhett Butler meandered around for the door in the darkness, his hands fumbling to find a light in the passageway. Where was the damned door? Why _had_ he stayed? What _had_ he done? And then he saw him: an extraordinarily tall man with gleaming black hair…and God above, was he mistaken, or did he look like him? It was eerie how much it looked like him, only a younger, thinner version…

His heart was pounding. _Luke_? Of course it couldn't be, not in Scarlett's house…but he had to get closer. The man was quicker than him, and disappeared behind a doorway that Rhett couldn't quite locate. How drunk was he?

He pushed forward, ramming his knee directly into a heavy piece of furniture before finally sighing as he lifted the lamp he had finally located and raised it to the mirror above the hall table to illuminate his face.

_Just look at me—a drunken, blithering old man_.

Then something about his blinking image pinched at him, and made him draw closer. His deep-set inky eyes were cold and black in the dim reflection, and at once thoughts of his late father sprang unnervingly into his mind. He squeezed them shut, and drew in a deep breath, shaking off, as best he could, the image and the memories that trailed behind.

When he opened them again, Rhett shoved his fingers through his wavy ebony hair, smoothing it into place. Turning away from the mirror, he deposited the candlestick to the cherry tabletop and set about attempting to retie the knot of his cravat…but where was that? Surely not…

Surely that had not…He had to get out of there, and fast.

. . . .

"Ye have a lot of relatives, Luke. Not to mention two bloody houses. You dinna mention that," came a low male voice from several feet up the passage.

Luke yanked his head around and squinted. Against the golden light breaking through the drawing room doors, he saw the familiar silhouette of the huskily built Scotsman.

"Were ye not gonna tell me?" the man said.

"_Tommy_." Luke turned fully, if a bit unsteadily, to face his old friend. "Sod me. Where have you been all night? Thought you'd changed your mind about coming and decided to take a turn with that woman of yours instead."

"Ah, well, no chance of that. Dinna have any more money." Tommy tucked a stray strand of hair back behind his ear, glad that Luke seemed to have forgiven his earlier mistake.

Luke shook his head. "No doubt you'll hold out for another skirt twice as...talented."

"No such luck in me future," Tommy sighed. "What about you? Did you get our money then?"

"Not yet. Close though. I did my dear _Auntie_ a favor this night. Perhaps she'll repay me in kind."

"Aye, but knowing you as I do, she'll be payin' you not in money, laddie. And then where'll we be but not a penny richer, eh?"

Luke smirked. "Trust me, Tommy. I have a plan. It happens to be a damned good one, too."

"I'm sure 'tis."

"It is though. It might require us remaining for a week or two."

Tommy shrugged. "Fine by me." He then squeezed Luke's shoulder, then, like a hound catching a scent, he sniffed the air between them. "So brandy is your choice tonight, eh? Any good? I do hope it is because I fear you might have a slight lead this eve. Can't have that, now can we?"

"More than a lead. My horse is lengths ahead, me laddie."

"Heard from the lads at the pub that your Aunt, what's her name, Scarlett? Aye. Heard that she's a real ball buster, an ice queen. Even a wee bit of a drinker, herself."

"Perhaps," Luke said nonchalantly. "Now get out of here before anyone sees you. I'm going to test my acting abilities."

"Tryin' for the stage, are we?"

"Nope. Merely to convince a lady of my _abilities_."

"Shouldna' be that hard for you. You've quite a bit of practice as of late."

"Have I?" Luke held his words to a low whisper.

Tommy's eyebrows lifted until they nearly grazed the golden lock of hair dangling over his forehead. "You dinna mean to make it seem that you…?"

"It will work. I promise."

Tommy laughed. "Wonder what your Da'll say, should he hear?"

Luke smirked. "How you do go on. He'll never know. No one will, because I'm going to buy her silence."

"Bloody hell!"

"No, no, there is _more_." Luke raised a hand before the other man could interrupt again. "I even have a good deed or two planned in all this. See, my father's left her for all intensive purposes…but I'm going to make her fall desperately in love with someone else. It's perfect, see? She'll forget all about the bastard and live, as they say, happily ever after."

"So, you're gonna marry her yourself?"

"Now Tommy, agreeing to change my manner is one matter—but marriage? Ha!"

Luke forced a laugh. "What a thought…as if anyone could convince me to become shackled willingly." He raised his eyebrows, and waited for Tommy do the same.

But he didn't.

Instead Tommy stared back at Laird as though he...as though he..._disagreed_?

But Tommy was actually smiling.

Hell's bells, it seemed that he did not agree.

"Twill never work. Or she'll just fall in love with ye and ye'll have to fight your own Da and shoot him in order to marry her yourself."

"Do you mock me, sir? I assure you, I can be quite persuasive when I am passionate about something."

"Tis true enough, except I happen to know you aren't invested in this cause. Not in the least."

"Care to bet on it?" Luke lifted his left eyebrow.

"Do yourself a good deed, save the hard earned money you think you're gonna earn. 'Cause this would be one wager I would certainly win."

"Really? Are you so sure?" Luke folded his arms across his chest, looking almost perturbed.

"Haven't a single doubt. For while I know you enjoy nothing so much as a challenge with such long odds, think about what your winning would mean. Were you to marry, your shares of respectability would nae doubt increase…"

"But my days of freedom would be at an end. I ask you, who else could match your stamina in chasing skirts, drinking or playing cards?"

"Chasing skirts, eh?" Tommy scratched his temple in feigned contemplation. "Here was I thinking you were on your way to becoming respectable..."

"Sure. Respectable. In more relaxed circles."

"So that is what you plan on doing to your Da's wife—redeeming yourself?" Tommy smirked. "She is still married you know. He's like to shoot ye, nae the other way around."

"Yes, but I've heard he's a poor shot." Luke grinned at his own joke, clever in his eyes.

The click of a man's shoes on the marble floor drew the curtain on any further comment on the subject.

"He's leaving. That'll be my cue…Out the window you go, Tommy. And keep well hidden, won't you?"

Tommy smiled. "Aye. Good luck, mate."

Luke sighed resignedly in mock distress. "I fear there is no escape for me…or for her…"The Scotsman glanced momentarily back at Luke. "Be careful, won't ye?"

Luke smiled at his friend. "You owe me one, you do realize this?" he whispered.

"I do, and I truly appreciate your _sacrifice_." Then, with a chuckle, he nudged Luke mercilessly forward and slipped out the window into the darkness.

Now for him to convince "Aunt" Scarlett that their _night of passion_ was better than the real thing…


	7. Scarlet

**7**

Scarlett stretched under the linen sheet, moaning in an excess of happiness. She glanced sleepily around for Rhett, although her mind told her that he had already gone without waking her. Or had it been a beautiful dream, and he had never been there at all? Surely he had. She wouldn't possess such a keen awareness of her body and it's possibilities – the evening had satisfied something in her core that she had not thought she possessed since...that night.

She was utterly enslaved by what Rhett had done to her, made her feel. When he married her, he had taken her in all her inexperience, even after two husbands before him, and attempted to train her appetite – deliberately taking the fear out of marital relations. At least he had in the beginning of their married life. Then things had soured and he had sought comfort elsewhere, _that_ particular night aside.

Scarlett almost fell asleep again, but just as her eyes closed she snapped up with a start.

Glancing at her sideways was none other than – Luke?

"I don't know," Scarlett said slowly. "I don't know what you are doing in my bed! Get out this instant before I have you arrested! Get out of my house! Now!"

"Is this your normal reaction after sharing a bed with a man?"

"When the man is not my husband it is now – get out! Out!"

"Shh!" he cried, snatching her wrists in his powerful hands, not bothering to move. "Look, Scarlett. Last night, you and Rhett were carrying on in the parlor. I was listening with Ashley, believe me. Ashley Wilkes? Your friend who I squired home out of the goodness of my heart? Well, look. Rhett was gone when I returned and you were laying on the floor of the foyer bawling your eyes out. It damn near broke my heart."

"Don't do that! No – I don't believe you – Rhett was here – I know he was."

"He was, Scarlett. He used you and left."

"He didn't – we..."

"I carried you up the stairs. Put you down in bed. You begged me to stay, not to leave you alone. I'm telling the truth, Scarlett. Here, feel my heart, feel it beating. Do you think it beats like this all the time?"

"You're lying!"

"No. Scarlett. I'm not. And you know I'm not. Deep down."

Scarlett's face turned scarlet. "I might...might...have let you kiss me. You should have left. I was distraught – and Rhett!"

"I would have never done it if you hadn't begged, honey. He did you a mean trick, getting you all hot and bothered like that and not bothering to finish the job. Cruel, really. For the broad, I mean. I mean lady. Lady, of course."

She pulled the covers closely over her now shivering form, her hands tucked under her armpits and her feet crossed tightly and her knees pressed together as if he was close to attacking her. Tears began to flow down her cheeks, which Luke would have attempted to wipe away if she would have let him. He cupped her cheek with the back of his hand, and said softly, "It is going to be alright."

Oh, God, Scarlett thought to herself with horror, what have I done? Rhett would be so angry with her when he found out that he wouldn't forgive her, ever. And when she had had him within her grasp, sooner than she could have ever anticipated. She felt her heart breaking in her chest, as if her lungs were filled with icy water and her not drowning depended upon someone else making a go at saving her. And it did.

In one swift, spontaneous movement, she slid toward the man next to her, his body so like Rhett's, only younger. She leaned over and quickly pressed her lips against his, then withdrew abruptly. His head was inclined, tactfully declining to return the kiss and bringing her back into the reality of her mortification. Her maid would be in soon, and any whisper of a man in her bedroom – Rhett's own nephew being the worst part of it – would be regarded with open interest and spread around town before breakfasts were put down on any of the tables belonging to members of the Old Guard. All of the past day receded into the distance, Melly's funeral, Rhett's leavetaking, and Luke's appearance – all of it mattered little when thrown back into the very dangerous situation in which she now found herself. She had committed adultery with this man. Rhett had grounds for divorce. Great balls of fire, he could probably have her thrown in jail, Tara sold at auction, Wade and Ella left to starve... She had managed for years to avoid the same with Ashley, aside from a handful of kisses. But now she was a true fallen woman. No better than that Watling creature, who at least received money for her favors.

"Look, we can keep this hidden, Scarlett. Let me help you. I just need some money to get back on my feet. If you can give me enough to get out of this dump on the next train and see me to California, then we can forget this happened. Rhett won't ever hear it from me."

Mutely, she nodded her dazed assent.

"There's no place for me to go now, do you understand? I need money."

So he was buying her silence. She could understand that. It was a business deal, plain and simple. For a moment only, she thought of Melly and her mother, and what they might have said if they could see her now. But they were dead and they couldn't, and she was glad for it.

"I can't give you a bank draft. I have cash at the store. I can get you enough to see you off and some more – for your silence. I need you to leave, extremely quietly. The servants will talk and they'll –"

Beyond her obvious terror, Luke noted with interest that her demeanor had changed completely. She had a plan now and he was going to get what he wanted from her. If only those waves of unpinned, jet black hair weren't spreading across those glorious white shoulders...


End file.
